


intimacy

by gortysproject



Category: Wolf 359 (Radio)
Genre: Alcohol, Drunk Sex, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, i long for death himself to punch me in the face, this is literally just porn i didn't mean for this to happen, trans Jacobi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-03
Updated: 2017-10-03
Packaged: 2019-01-08 12:23:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12254316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gortysproject/pseuds/gortysproject
Summary: kepler’s nose, cold from the night they just left on the doorstep, presses into the hollow of jacobi’s neck. a light kiss is dusted across his collarbone. jacobi wraps his arms around him, praying he’ll never have to let go.





	intimacy

**Author's Note:**

> blease pay attention to the tags  
> i.....have no good excuse. i have 1 good excuse which is that it's 6am and i haven't slept, but other than that, i have no good excuse.

their room is musty, chilly, but kepler’s lips are warm, and his cologne is sweet. jacobi likes it; it’s new. that doesn’t happen often. still, other things are the same—the even breaths, the tightening fingers, eyelids fluttering shut and sensations heightening. too much, and not enough, all happening at once but feeling miles away. the same old scenario, a brand-new setting.

kepler’s nose, cold from the night they just left on the doorstep, presses into the hollow of jacobi’s neck. a light kiss is dusted across his collarbone. jacobi wraps his arms around him, praying he’ll never have to let go.

it’s all rather confusing, so he focuses on what he knows—

one. he is drunk. the beer was cheap, the occasion was there, and he was never good at turning down a drink.

two. kepler is also drunk. he would never be _quite_ as messed up, but there’s something stuttering in the gasp of his breath, something heated in the lowering of his eyelids.

three. there is a mist in jacobi’s mind, and he can’t quite figure out why—wait. he’s drunk.

four. the sheet beneath him is cold, and his skin is bared to its mercy as kepler tugs him up, sitting up, swaying slightly but coherent enough to recognise the cue to pull his shirt off.

five. his legs part, for no reason other than that it feels right. kepler slots in between them as though he’s always belonged there. (maybe he has.)

six. he pulls kepler down, lips fierce as they press against his, pretending this is an even playing field.

kepler smirks into the kiss, easing up, because he likes to regulate jacobi’s impulses like that. jacobi pushes ahead; kepler curls a finger into his collar and tugs him back. jacobi leans in; kepler leans out. jacobi’s fingers flutter on kepler’s belt; kepler nudges them away with a reminder etched into his words. “patience, mr jacobi, we have all night.”

his gaze is clouded, hazy, tinted by alcohol just as much as jacobi’s own, but this never seems to affect kepler quite as much. kepler’s fingers wrap around jacobi’s wrists, pushing them above his head on the pillow, which in turn pulls his hips in to meet jacobi’s in an essentially delicious movement—jacobi groans, arches his spine, whimpers for more. kepler’s smirk only curls wider.

he rocks back into jacobi, allowing his own eyelids to flutter closed for a brief moment before he returns to his former task. “hold your hands here,” he murmurs, the drawl in his voice more pronounced than usual. “leave them above your head. i’m not going to tie them up. this is a question of _your_ self-restraint.”

eloquently, jacobi whimpers again. kepler steals the sound by pressing his lips to jacobi’s, before trailing them across to his jaw, down his throat, back to his collarbone. he spends a moment there, tugging on the flesh between his teeth, forming a mark of ownership on shamefully-unblemished skin.

his kisses travel lower. his teeth encircle one of jacobi’s nipples, and jacobi bucks up into the touch, hands clenching into fists where his alcohol-induced mind reminds him of one thing—that he cannot move these hands, that to do so would be a sin, that kepler needs this from him. kepler bites down, gently, and jacobi whines again. “sir,” he mumbles. “sir, please, god, _please_.”

as kepler’s lips move further down, ghosting across the rougher skin of his scars and the sensitive skin of his stomach, jacobi’s fingers clench into fists and unclench repetitively—fearfully. nervously. achingly. he lifts his hips off the bed as kepler wraps fingers around the edge of his waistband, still kissing downward, lips smudging across the v of his hipbones and down to the crease of his thigh, lower, lower, _lower_ —

kepler presses a delicate kiss to the top of jacobi’s clit, and he exhales, fists unclenching above his head as he finally gets some relief. kepler’s tongue darts out to run up the sides, over the top, pressing down on the place that makes jacobi writhe. jacobi can feel the curve of kepler’s smile even now, and he pictures it, kepler’s cocky smirk bracketed by jacobi’s thighs, tongue sweeping up, fingers wrapping around his waist to tug him down properly and meet his waiting mouth.

jacobi gasps into the silence as he feels kepler’s tongue push inside him, and his hand twitches, moving to bury itself in kepler’s hair and hold him there and ride his face until kingdom come but—but _no_ , his hands stay put. they need to stay put. he hears kepler croon, “good boy,” over the thud of his own heartbeat. he clenches his fists.

a moment later, one of kepler’s hands disappears from jacobi’s waist, the cold hitting the bare skin like an old friend and filling the space. jacobi finds out a second later just where kepler’s hand was going—he moans, guttural, _desperate_ , as he feels a thick finger begin to press inside him.

kepler’s tongue moves up again, making room for jacobi to ride the single finger inside him, and as kepler explores his folds, the sensations build up until they are more than jacobi can handle. something snaps inside him—he groans, feeling the pressure of a second finger slide in against the first, and he pushes his hips against them both, the hitches in his breath becoming louder, more pronounced, more frequent as he moves. kepler’s free hand skims up jacobi’s side lightly before his finger flicks over jacobi’s nipple, and the sensation overwhelms him.

he’s so close. _he’s so close_. mind foggy, eyes half-closed, fingers gripping the pillowcase hard enough to tear, jacobi feels himself teetering at the edge.

kepler curls his fingers forward inside him, beckons him with the gesture, and that’s it—jacobi comes with a shout, hips moving against kepler’s hand by themselves, eyes squeezed shut, the pleasure rocking through him in wave after unavoidable wave, stripping him down to his bones and laying him bare under that same, heated gaze.

kepler sits up, still bracketed by jacobi’s hips and delicately wiping his lower lip with his thumb. the movement makes jacobi snort, as though they aren’t already filthy, as though kepler wiping his lip would make up for the mess they’ve made. his mouth is still curved in a lazy grin when kepler leans down, and— _oh_ , and kepler still hasn’t come, and jacobi still hasn’t moved his hands from above his head, and kepler’s dick is lined up with jacobi’s entrance.

kepler mirrors jacobi’s lazy grin, and thrusts into him smoothly. jacobi is pliant enough that the movement doesn’t hurt, but the sudden fullness is intense, and he gasps as his nails dig into the pillow. kepler’s hands wind around jacobi’s knees, pushing them forward, leaning down until the muscles in his thighs are straining but the contrast feels so good to the slow, hard rhythm kepler is falling into.

this is jacobi’s favourite sight—kepler, towering above him, lips parted, neatly-gelled hair beginning to fall into his face. jacobi aches to kiss him, strangely, which is unusual, but he can blame it on the alcohol running through his veins and leave the deeper meaning for a day that doesn’t exist.

“okay,” kepler murmurs, his voice strained beautifully as he thrusts back into jacobi again, “you can move your hands.”

immediately, jacobi’s fingers scrabble for purchase in the expanse of kepler’s back. it’s leverage, it’s possession, it’s a chance to sink his nails into kepler’s skin and scratch them down. the pain always spurs kepler on, and this time is no different—his hips stutter, and he thrusts harder, movements picking up pace as jacobi learns to meet them.

“ _fuck_ —”

kepler drops one of jacobi’s legs to hold onto his hip, and the change of angle drags a full-body spasm from jacobi—he’s still sensitive, clinging onto kepler for dear _life_ at this rate, as each time they rock into each other produces a burst of pleasure behind his closed eyes.

just as jacobi feels a second crescendo mounting inside him, fingers digging in and nails raking down kepler’s back in a familiar sense of wild desperation, kepler’s hips stutter to a halt and he pushes deep inside jacobi—deep enough for him to choke on his breath, deep enough for his body to shudder as he rides through another climax.

kepler’s face is hidden in his neck; the moment feels too intimate for them, but as he brushes his hands down kepler’s back, soothing the angry welts his fingernails left in their wake, he allows this moment to occur. kepler isn’t pushing him away. that feels good enough.

as their breathing returns to normal, kepler pulls out of jacobi and shifts away, and jacobi’s head lands back on the pillow in a clouded exhaustion. he waits for kepler to move into the room’s other bed, to step aside, to take a shower.

instead, kepler lands next to him in the bed, an arm draping itself loosely over jacobi’s waist—not holding him, but casually marking his ownership. despite himself, jacobi grins into the pillow, and lets the comforting tug of sleep lull him to rest.

when he wakes, kepler is still there, unmoved. maybe intimacy isn’t so bad after all.

**Author's Note:**

> find me @aihera on tumblr and throw a bible at me


End file.
